


Within a Barrow Cold

by trolly_mctrollson



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Accent, Angst, Awkward, Awkward Flirting, Dragons, Ethical Prostitution, F/M, Gay male characters, Hot Men, Hot Men Having Hot Sex, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Leather, Lisp, Loosely Plot-Based, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lisp kink, some smut, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trolly_mctrollson/pseuds/trolly_mctrollson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn hires Vorstag, a mercenary, to make fighting dragons less stressful. It doesn't hurt that he's a pleasure to look at, too. But Siafnir doesn't know how to react when he begins to think of Vorstag as more than eye candy. Romance, business, and adventure don't mix... or do they?</p><p>TL;DR: Siafnir and Vorstag fumble with their feelings for one another in a Skyrim where homosexuality is practiced but not necessarily tolerated by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Weary, the Dragonborn entered the inn at long last. He scanned the room until he saw his mark – Endon the silversmith. Somewhere in the background, the innkeeper offered him a drink. The Dragonborn ignored the offer and fell into a chair across from Endon. “Delvin Mallory sent me,” he said.  
  
“Ah, yes,” Endon said. “Here’s the problem…”  
  
The Dragonborn tried to listen, his eyes going in and out of focus. He caught bits of information as Endon gave them to him, enough to know his new objective. Once Endon seemed like he had said all he had to say, the Dragonborn leaned forward and met his eyes. “Consider it done.”  
  
After excusing himself, he pried himself out of the chair and flagged the innkeeper down. “I need a room for the night, a hot meal, and a cold ale.”  
  
“Twenty septims, adventurer.”  
  
The Dragonborn sat down at the bar and sipped at his frosty mug until the innkeeper slid a plate of pheasant roast and grilled leeks in front of him. He threw himself into the meal, tearing the greasy flesh from the bones. Then, finally, he leaned back with a sigh and a hearty belch. “Tell me where my room is,” he said to the innkeeper. “And an extra septim in the morning if no one bothers me till dawn.”  
  
“Down the hall, third door on the left. Sleep well.”  
  
He slipped from the barstool and trudged toward his room, rubbing at the blear in his eyes. As he passed down the hall, he heard someone calling out. “If you’ve got the gold to pay my fee, my sword-arm is yours, adventurer.”  
  
Sure he had misheard, he continued on and fell into his bed and the warm embrace of sleep.  
  
He emerged from his room in the morning well-rested and much more clear-headed. He bellied up to the bar and bought a sweetroll from the barman.  
  
After finishing his meal, he turned to hop off the barstool and found his sight filled with broad shoulders and a leather-clad chest. “Can’t be too careful these days, with the war and other dangers. For a fair price, I’ll watch your back.”  
  
The Dragonborn looked up and saw swirls of war paint and long hair, leather and steel. He bit down the swirling feeling in his stomach and kept a carefully still face. “And you are?”  
  
“Vorstag. Some may call me a mercenary, but I like to think of myself as a freelance adventurer for hire.” He winked, a slow, lazy wink that stirred the fire inside the Dragonborn’s gut.  
  
“Vorstag. Very well then. I suppose where I’m going I could use a hand. Five hundred septims sound fair to you?”  
  
“Sounds like a fair price.”  
  
“Well, then. What are we waiting for?” The Dragonborn flipped a septim at the innkeeper and left, brushing past Vorstag on the way out.  
  
“So, adventurer, where are we going?”  
  
“Pinewatch.”  
  
“Logging cabin?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Not a man of many words, are you?”  
  
The Dragonborn shrugged and looked at the sloping path ahead of them. “Prefer to save my breath for the road.”  
  
Vorstag shrugged and kept pace. “As you were.”  
  
Their path took them between craggy mountains. The Dragonborn was on high alert, knowing that Forsworn lurked in the mountain passes near Markarth. If Vorstag noticed his twitchiness, he didn’t say anything, just loping along next to him.  
  
An arrow flew past the Dragonborn’s ear from behind him. He whirled, but saw Vorstag taking aim again. A cry went up from behind a boulder and the Dragonborn nocked an arrow to his own bow. He stepped to the left, sighting down the arrow and loosing it into a Forsworn pillager, then jumped right to dodge a retaliating arrow. He and Vorstag crept forward, picking off the inhabitants of the Forsworn ambush camp.  
  
When the two were sure there were no more men of the Reach, the Dragonborn slung his bow over his back once more and moved between the fallen, recovering what arrows he could and adding to his quiver. He pocketed the few gold coins and jewels he found on them, as subtly as he could. Not everyone saw the dead as coin purses, and he wasn’t looking forward to a confrontation with his hireling.  
  
To his surprise, when he had finished recovering the arrows and treasure, Vorstag held out a closed fist to him.  
  
The Dragonborn quirked an eyebrow.  
  
“I have no use for trinkets,” Vorstag said, lingering on the sibilants just a little longer than was normal.  
  
“At least keep the gold from those you killed,” the Dragonborn conceded.  
  
“Fair enough. But the trinkets and the jewels are yours.”  
  
“You don’t have a lady to give them to?”  
  
“Sellswords and spouses don’t mix,” Vorstag said, evenly and without emotion.  
  
The Dragonborn noticed the neutral “spouse” but said nothing about it. “I always just enchant ‘em and sell ‘em,” he said with a sheepish half-smile. “Basically the same as turning them into gold.”  
  
“Never thought of just selling them,” Vorstag admitted.  
  
“It’s not really worth it unless you enchant them. Makes about a thousand-septim difference.”  
  
Vorstag eyed him sideways. “Do you always tell strangers how much money you have?”  
  
The Dragonborn shrugged. “I’m not threatened by most people.”  
  
“Well, why hire me then?”  
  
The Dragonborn tensed and nodded over Vorstag’s shoulder, drawing his bow again. “Well, that’s one reason.”  
  
Vorstag turned, sword in hand in such a practiced motion it barely even registered to the Dragonborn’s eyes. “A dragon!”  
  
“Shut up and fight,” the Dragonborn growled. He drew back his bow of thunderbolts and let loose an Orcish arrow. The dragon jerked and growled at the impact.  
  
Vorstag dashed in close and struck with his sword, then darted back out of range. Another arrow found its mark in the dragon’s belly and Vorstag used the distraction to strike again.  
  
The Dragonborn suddenly found himself in the midst of a whirling storm of biting cold. He winced at the bite, but loosed his nocked arrow regardless. The second it left his bow, he felt a strong hand pull him roughly out of the blast.  
  
He shook the frost from his hair, irritated, and barked, “Get back in there!”  
  
Vorstag didn’t leave his side. Instead, he shot a few arrows of his own and watched as the beast convulsed in its death throes. Then he turned to the Dragonborn and began checking him for wounds.  
  
“I’m fine,” the Dragonborn snapped. He pushed himself to his feet and trotted over to the flickering corpse of the dragon, poking through its scales.  
  
The orange light of the dragon’s soul began to flow out of the dragon and into the Dragonborn. He heard Vorstag’s sharp intake of breath and had only that to warn him before the mercenary bodily tackled him and slammed him onto the ground, covering him with his body.  
  
“Relax, it’s fine,” the Dragonborn said, still irritated. “It’s not a death curse or anything.”  
  
Vorstag drew back, looking perplexed, and sat back on his haunches, still hovering over him.  
  
The Dragonborn braced himself for the familiar prickling tingle of a dragon soul, and squinted one eye with the discomfort as it filled him. Then it was over, and he relaxed with a sigh.  
  
“If it wasn’t a death curse,” Vorstag said, “…Dragonborn?”  
  
The Dragonborn nodded, offering a half-smirk. “That’s me.”  
  
“Say, do you have a name?”  
  
“I usually just go by ‘traveler’ or ‘Dragonborn’.”  
  
“But do you have a name?”  
  
The Dragonborn looked sidelong at him. “Names have power. I’ll tell you mine when I’m good and ready.”  
  
Vorstag shrugged. “As you will.”  
  
The heat of the dragon’s soul was starting to fade, and the Dragonborn finally fully noticed that Vorstag was near sitting on him. He felt a new heat begin to rise up in him and quickly stifled it with thoughts of steel and leather…  
  
No avail. It had been too long.  
  
He indulged himself a bit and growled, “Get off.”  
  
Vorstag’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to figure out how exactly to take the Dragonborn’s statement, but he stood up fluidly and offered the Dragonborn a hand.  
  
The Dragonborn ignored the hand and clambered to his feet. Vorstag took a step back and fell in behind him.  
  
The distance passed in near-monotony only broken by the occasional wolf pack. The Dragonborn, desensitized to Skyrim's grandeur by months spent climbing her mountains and fording her rivers, paid little attention to their surroundings. When night fell, he ducked into the mouth of a cave and pulled a loaf of bread out of his pack. He broke off half and tossed it at Vorstag, who caught it and half-frowned.  
  
“You don’t need to feed me. I can fend for myself.”  
  
The Dragonborn shrugged. “Sharing is caring.” He put on an exaggerated friendly smile.  
  
Vorstag shuddered. “Don’t do that. Here, have some mead. Ought to help wash it down.”  
  
The Dragonborn swigged out of the bottle and passed it back. “Honningbrew?”  
  
Vorstag shrugged. “Couldn’t afford Black-Briar. Been too long since a contract.”  
  
“I could tell you things about Honningbrew.”  
  
“Do I want to know?”  
  
The Dragonborn laughed, the mead beginning to warm his belly. “No, not really.”  
  
“Maybe some more mead first.”  
  
“Always!” The Dragonborn reached back into his pack and drew out a small pot of jam. “Cheers.”  
  
Vorstag smeared the jam over his bread with an iron dagger and took a bite, closing his eyes. “Everything tastes better after a fight.”  
  
The Dragonborn raised the mead bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”  
  
“I’ll drink to anything!” Vorstag said, then frowned and turned the bottle upside-down. He reached back into his pack and drew out another bottle of mead.  
  
The Dragonborn looked at him askance, then shrugged. “Might as well drink it so it doesn’t get smashed in a fight or a fall.”  
  
Vorstag smiled, the warmth reaching his eyes in a way it hadn’t before. “I like the way you think, Dragonborn.”  
  
His accented syllables sent more heat coursing through the Dragonborn’s body. He closed his eyes and, before he could change his mind, said, “Siafnir.”  
  
“Siafnir?”  
  
“My name.”  
  
“Siafnir.” Vorstag sounded like he was savoring it. Siafnir tried not to shudder at the way the syllables slid across Vorstag’s tongue and almost succeeded, only letting a slight shiver dance down his spine.  
  
Vorstag paused, almost as if he’d noticed, but only said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Siafnir.”  
  
Siafnir took a breath a bit sharper than he’d have liked, but only said, “And you, Vorstag.”  
  
“To being alive!” Vorstag raised the bottle and took a swig, then passed it over.  
  
Siafnir drank deeply and then handed the bottle back, praying this madness would be gone in the morning.  
  
Vorstag met Siafnir’s eyes and finished the mead. “To bed, then?”  
  
Siafnir nodded, trying not to imagine innuendo in Vorstag’s words. He turned and made a bed out of his cloak, a blanket, and his pack. Vorstag was doing the same across the fire.  
  
When Siafnir was reasonably sure Vorstag was asleep, he stepped out of the cave and took a deep sniff of fresh air to try to clear his head. He went behind a nearby rock and relieved his bladder. Then, ridden with guilt, he sank back against the rock and pulled his leathers down around his hips. He let out a shuddering breath as he imagined Vorstag’s broad, golden chest, flexing, glowing with a sheen of sweat. The heat he’d been fighting back all day flooded through him with ferocity and it took him much less time to relieve his tension than he had anticipated.  
  
He slid down the rock, catching his breath, and when the sweat had dried on his skin in the cool air, he went back into the cave and settled into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
The next morning dawned cold and gray. The Dragonborn and the mercenary packed up without much talk and set out again.  
  
They neared Pinewatch as the sun peaked in the sky.  
  
“So, what are we up against?”  
  
“We’ll find out.”  
  
Siafnir picked the lock as Vorstag kept watch, then they entered the building in a wary crouch.  
  
“You’re not too bad of a sneak,” Siafnir breathed to Vorstag.  
  
“I’m a man of varied talents. Comes in handy when all sorts hire me.”  
  
They snuck behind the man at the table and down the stairs. Siafnir’s nostrils flared and he sniffed.  
  
“There’s a draft,” he hissed.  
  
Vorstag padded over to the bookshelf and squinted at it, then reached over and fiddled with something hidden. The bookshelf swung open, revealing a passage downward.  
  
Without a moment’s hesitation, they descended, weapons drawn. Suddenly, a sound behind them made them turn. The man from the main floor swung an axe at Vorstag, but the mercenary blocked with his shield and smoothly ran the bandit through.  
  
The body fell wetly to the floor and Vorstag turned back to follow Siafnir down the stairs.  
  
A trickle of blood and faint raspings of breath followed them down the tunnel for a few steps, but soon faded away.  
  
They entered a cave full of wooden scaffolding. Siafnir nocked an arrow to his bow and picked off a bandit standing in their way, his shot cleanly piercing the bandit’s eye.  
  
The other bandit started and moved toward them, but Vorstag was already there. The bandit’s head hit the scaffolding and rolled off the edge, setting off a cascade of crashing.  
  
Siafnir and Vorstag exchanged glances and pressed forward, Siafnir slinging his bow over his back and drawing his daggers instead.  
  
Three bandits came around the corner and quickly met their deaths.  
  
“Keep watch,” Siafnir hissed. He picked a locked door and sighed impatiently at the contents of the cupboard behind it. A few healing potions and a bottle or two of mead went into his pack and he closed the door quietly.  
  
“Anything good?”  
  
“Not really. The treasures are never at the beginning.”  
  
Vorstag shrugged and followed Siafnir through the room, dispatching the occasional bandit and looting bags and boxes as they came upon them.  
  
They turned down a tunnel, Siafnir deactivating a bear trap as they went. Suddenly, he stopped and flung out an arm to stop Vorstag.  
  
The mercenary stopped short at the hand on his chest. Siafnir dropped it but jerked his chin at the spikes ahead of them. “Trap,” he said shortly, and went back the way they’d come.  
  
They opened a door and were greeted by a room full of bone chimes. Siafnir slid his way between them, then turned to say something to Vorstag and saw the bigger man shaking his head ruefully. “Not going to happen.”  
  
“Get down on the floor,” Siafnir whispered back. “Crawl on your belly.”  
  
Vorstag unbuckled his shield and pushed it ahead of him as he went under the chimes.  
  
“Well done,” Siafnir said.  
  
Vorstag shrugged. “I can sneak and I can kill, but I’m no snake.”  
  
Siafnir slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get there!”  
  
Vorstag tensed and nodded over Siafnir’s shoulder. A bandit, patrolling the hall ahead of them, was drawing close. Siafnir drew his bow and shot the bandit before he saw them, then stepped over the body and padded into the shadow. Vorstag followed behind. After Vorstag nearly tripped a few times, Siafnir stopped and was nearly bowled over by Vorstag’s solid weight bumping into him.  
  
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” Siafnir said. “I’m used to the dark and you’ll be able to feel when I step down or up. We don’t need any more attention than we already had.”  
  
“I could take them all at once in broad daylight,” Vorstag muttered, but he followed Siafnir’s instructions.  
  
“I believe you,” Siafnir said, trying not to think of the muscular arm attached to the hand on his shoulder. He began moving forward again until they reached a patch of torchlight.  
  
Siafnir listened carefully and then raised his bow again, drawing carefully to avoid the sinew and wood creaking. He loosed an arrow, and then another, and another still, in rapid succession. Three thumps and a round of audible gasps arose. At least five bandits got to their feet and began moving towards them. Siafnir switched over to his knives and slipped into the shadows to get behind the group of bandits.  
  
Vorstag made a fine and deadly distraction. Siafnir saw more than one bandit fall to the mercenary’s blade, but kept his focus on sneaking up behind the bandits. He grabbed a handful of hair, pulled a head back, and slit a throat, then dropped the body and thrust his knife between another bandit’s ribs. The body slid off the end of his knife and he ducked back into the shadows briefly before stepping back out and bringing his blade down into the back of someone’s neck.  
  
Siafnir stepped back to avoid Vorstag’s blade, stepped into the shadows again, and put a drop of nightshade extract on his dagger. Then he darted back out and plunged the dagger into the calf of a bandit who was engaged with Vorstag. The bandit staggered and fell, writhing for a moment, then was still.  
  
Vorstag held his stance while he scanned the room, then he relaxed. Siafnir did the same, then looked down at the bodies. “That’s more than I had expected.”  
  
“The noise must have roused some more of them.”  
  
Siafnir knelt down to loot the bodies. After a second, Vorstag began following suit. As before, he handed the jewels and trinkets to Siafnir.  
  
“Come on. Let’s see what’s left.”  
  
Siafnir led the way up the ramp and through more bone chimes, dispatching a couple of sleeping bandits. He peeked his head around a wooden partition and quickly drew it back.  
  
“Pretty lady bandit. Steel plate armor by the looks of it. Sitting at her desk. I’m going to try to get her with a nightshade dagger. If that fails, you’re my backup plan.”  
  
Vorstag nodded, rolling his sword in his wrist.  
  
Siafnir poisoned the dagger and crept into the room, half watching the ground, half watching his target. His footfalls, precise, measured, made no noise and he was very quickly in range. His hand darted out and buried the dagger in the side of her neck.  
  
She jerked and stood, movements a tiny bit sluggish, but hit Siafnir with a punch powerful enough to send him flying across the room. Vorstag advanced on her, blocking her warhammer attacks with his shield and parrying with his sword. His shield began to crack under the pressure and he took a few steps back. Siafnir hauled himself to his feet and unrolled a scroll. Green light began to pour from his hands and engulfed the bandit chief. When it cleared, she was lying immobile on the ground. Siafnir swigged a minor healing potion and advanced on the bandit chief. Her eyes stared into the distance, glassy. When he slit her throat, her expression didn't change. Idly, he wondered if she felt it at all, or even knew what had happened.  
  
He straightened and went back to Vorstag. “You all right?” he asked, voice a little strained.  
  
“A bit winded. What about you? That was a pretty nasty blow. Let me take a look at it.”  
  
Siafnir shrugged. “I had a healing potion in my pack.”  
  
“Let me make sure nothing is broken. You could heal badly.”  
  
The Dragonborn sighed, but let Vorstag check him over. He was sore, but didn’t think anything was actually seriously wrong with him.  
  
“Looks like the tears from her gauntlets are starting to heal up nicely. You should be fine.”  
  
“I told you. Now, let’s go find this treasure.”  
  
Endon’s mold was in a giant chest at the back of the cave along with some gold, jewels, and an Orcish shield. Siafnir held it out to Vorstag, whose eyebrows shot up.  
  
“I don’t use shields and they’re too heavy to haul back to town. You don’t want it, sell it in town. But you need a new shield, and this one’s better than your old one,” Siafnir said. All of a sudden, he was tired and wanted nothing more than a nice meal and a bed. His bed.  
  
It wasn’t that far, actually. And it couldn’t be later than midafternoon…  
  
Vorstag had apparently decided to keep the shield, as it hung on his arm. It suited him much better than the old banded iron one.  
  
“How long are you planning on keeping this contract?” Siafnir asked carefully. He didn’t want to seem overeager, but also didn’t want to seem unfriendly.  
  
“Until you dismiss me,” Vorstag said.  
  
“So you’ll follow me wherever?”  
  
“…yes. Should I regret that decision?”  
  
“Not this time,” Siafnir declared. “Follow me.”  
  
Siafnir led the way out of the cave and back to Whiterun. Once at Breezehome, he had Lydia run two baths and prepare a hot meal while they were bathing, then told her to take the rest of the night off and stay at Dragonsreach.  
  
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.  
  
“I need your bed for my mercenary,” Siafnir explained.  
  
Lydia nodded but didn’t look like she believed him.  
  
“It’s really not like that.”  
  
“Yes, my Thane.”  
  
“Just go. And no gossip!” he called, exasperated.  
  
Lydia looked at him over her shoulder with a sly look as she left, but said nothing else.  
  
He threw his hands up, turned, and went back into the little house, where he sat down across from Vorstag and ladled out some kind of stew. There was even fresh bread with butter and honey, and an apple tart with cream. Siafnir poured mugs of mead and handed one to Vorstag, who drank deeply and closed his eyes in appreciation.  
  
After they had eaten and drunk until nearly bursting, Siafnir sighed and leaned back, stretching his feet out to the fire.  
  
“You know,” he said, “it’s not so bad having someone with me.”  
  
Vorstag’s lips quirked in a sarcastic little smile. “That’s the idea.”  
  
“I never thought it would be anything but a hindrance.”  
  
“Vorstag, hindrance for hire. At your service, adventurer.”  
  
Siafnir laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“What, then?”  
  
“It’s… nice. Not just helpful, but nice.”  
  
Vorstag’s smile changed, became warmer. His eyes met Siafnir’s and lingered for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Siafnir’s heart began pounding and he took another swig of mead as an excuse to look away.  
  
When he glanced back, Vorstag was still watching him.  
  
“I was surprised you had no children,” Vorstag said.  
  
Siafnir shrugged. “The adventurer life. Being Dragonborn doesn’t help. I’m always off somewhere doing something. It wouldn’t do to bring a child into it.”  
  
“Lydia does not mind?”  
  
“Lydia? Why would she mind?”  
  
“Does she not want children?”  
  
“Lydia?” Siafnir laughed, then choked. “You think Lydia is my wife?”  
  
Vorstag relaxed a bit. “I didn’t know.”  
  
“Lydia is my housecarl. I tried to take her with me but she kept getting in the way. So now she stays here and guards my home and my belongings, keeps everything livable for when I come home for a few days.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“You live in an inn. You know how that works.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So. I just wanted to come back here to sleep in my own bed again and to drop off some things.”  
  
Vorstag nodded.  
  
Siafnir cursed himself for being so clumsy. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t have much time for friends or for social niceties. I apologize if I’m coming off as uncivilized.”  
  
“You’re talking to a mercenary,” Vorstag reminded him. “All I know is cheap mead, cheap ale, and cheap flesh when I’m desperate.”  
  
Siafnir tried not to clench his fists at the mention of sex. “Desperate, eh? Let me tell you how often I wished I could just marry Lydia to have something. Anything.”  
  
“Why don’t you?”  
  
“Can’t bed someone I don’t want.”  
  
“She’s quite pretty.”  
  
“Certainly. And decently intelligent.”  
  
“So what’s the problem?”  
  
Siafnir heaved a frustrated sigh, wishing he hadn’t backed himself into this corner. “She’s, well, just not my type.”  
  
Vorstag’s face didn’t change expression. “Prefer them dumber? Softer? More maidenly? Younger?”  
  
“Prefer them… not.”  
  
“Not?”  
  
Siafnir’s jaw clenched. “You know! You just want to hear me say it.”  
  
The corner of Vorstag’s mouth twitched up in a lazy smile. “Why don’t you just go to Riften and hire one of the street boys?”  
  
“Why don’t you drop it?” Siafnir snapped, his embarrassment searing through the fuzzy pleasure of half-drunkenness.  
  
Suddenly, Vorstag was right next to him, hand on Siafnir’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But do you know how rare it is to find someone else who will admit it?”  
  
“Admit it?”  
  
“Preferring men. I’ve lost contracts because of it. Sometimes they’ll just look the other way if I bed a man. Sometimes I’ll lose my pay. Someday I might lose my life.”  
  
Siafnir looked up at Vorstag. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Vorstag shrugged. “I’m still alive for now.”  
  
“I guess it’s obvious I won’t do any of those things?”  
  
“I had thought as much. And at any rate, now there’s no need to dance around it anymore.”  
  
“That will make things easier.”  
  
Vorstag sat back down. “Yes. No more of the vague spouse comments. Say, got any more of that mead?”  
  
They poured another mug each.  
  
“What’s the plan, then?” Vorstag asked after a while of sitting and drinking amiably in front of the fire.  
  
“Tomorrow we’ll leave for Markarth. Then it’s back to Riften and the Guild.”  
  
Vorstag nodded. “Sounds good.”  
  
Siafnir snuck a glance at Vorstag over the edge of his mug. The mercenary sat slumped in the chair, staring into the fire. “Whenever you’re ready for bed, Lydia’s is yours for the night.”  
  
Vorstag nodded, his eyes lingering on the fire for a moment more before meeting Siafnir’s. The hot intensity of earlier was gone, replaced by weariness. “Rest sounds magnificent. See you in the morning?”  
  
Siafnir nodded. “Sleep well.”  
  
Vorstag nodded and climbed the stairs to Lydia’s room, shutting the door.  
  
Siafnir buried the fire and headed up to bed himself.  
  
The next morning, he rose and had a breakfast of apple tart and some cheese while waiting for Vorstag to get out of bed. The mercenary came down halfway through Siafnir’s breakfast and helped himself to the same meal. Then they shouldered their packs and set out on the road once again.


	2. Chapter 2

They kept to the roads and were largely unhindered but for a few mudcrabs that they ate for dinner and a Forsworn camp that they skirted. When they arrived in Markarth, Siafnir dropped off the mold to Endon and took care of a few other small “errands” for Delvin and Vex.  


He met up with Vorstag back in the Silver-Blood Inn and they settled in for an evening of ale, meat pies, and boiled crème treats with the other patrons at the inn.

They all seemed to know and be familiar with Vorstag, and after Vorstag introduced them to Siafnir as his current contract, they included him in their banter, ribbing him a bit for needing a hireling.

“I just think with dragons flying about it doesn’t hurt to travel with company,” Siafnir said.

There was a murmur of assent. Then a young boy asked, “Have you run into any dragons yet?”

Siafnir was reminded of Farengar’s preoccupation with dragons and stifled a smile. “Yes. We ran into one a few hours away from here.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Did you fight it?”

“And won,” Vorstag added. “We took this from its corpse.” He showed around a dragon scale and then put it away again.

“How did you beat it?”

“Mixed long-distance and close-range tactics,” Siafnir said off-handedly.

Vorstag shot him a glance and said, more kindly, “He shot at it from afar and I used my sword up close.”

“Did it bite you?”

“No, but it left a good few tooth marks in my shield and it nearly froze him to death,” Vorstag said, nodding to Siafnir.

Siafnir shivered dramatically. The adults smiled indulgently at the boy. Someone bought him a sweetroll and told him to run along.

Then a man turned to Siafnir. “How does your woman take to you running around fighting dragons?”

Siafnir ground his teeth but answered the question, deliberately misleading them. “Lydia would come fight with me if she didn’t have to attend to the household.”

Uproarious laughter and comments on the femininity of a woman who would fight a dragon followed. Siafnir excused himself and went to rent a room from the innkeeper.

A young lady batted her eyelashes at him as he walked past. He glanced at her, pursed his lips, and then jerked his chin for her to follow him.

He could almost feel Vorstag’s eyes on him, but he put his hand on the small of her back and she snuggled up to him.

She wasn’t bad looking, and he wasn’t fundamentally opposed to sleeping with women. Besides, he was desperate. Too many fights and not enough stress relief left him distracted every time Vorstag flexed that muscled chest.

They reached his room and the girl shut the door, her back against it. “What did you have in mind, my lord?” she asked coquettishly.

“What do you want?”

“A strong embrace – but not too strong – and a few gold pieces to buy my bread.”

Siafnir smiled at her honesty. “Come here, then, sweetheart.” He sat down on the bed.

She straddled his knees and tossed her head, baring a pale shoulder. He placed his hands on her waist and sucked in a breath as she moved her hips sinuously, pressing her face to his neck and brushing her groin against his.

He slid his hands up her sides and cupped small, soft breasts. The girl’s nipples hardened under his thumbs and she let out a breathy little moan. Siafnir pulled the dress down over her other shoulder and lowered his lips to her neck and collarbone. She tasted clean and a little sweet. He licked slowly up to her ear, feeling her shiver. Her hands tangled in his hair and she pulled him away, catching his lips with hers.

Their mouths moved together for a few minutes, the girl’s breath coming faster. She pushed him down onto his back and straddled him, hiking up her skirt. Her fingers easily loosed the catches of his Thieves’ Guild leathers and she was soon licking at his nipples. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Vorstag’s tongue.

His leathers tightened around his groin and the girl noticed. She ground down hard and then slid to kneel at the foot of the bed, taking his leathers with her.

The cold air made him twitch, but it was only seconds before she had him in her mouth, bobbing her head and swirling her tongue expertly.

He didn’t look down at her, but instead stared at the ceiling, thinking of glimpses of war paint and reddish hair.

The pressure built quickly. He had to strain to keep himself from rocking his hips into the girl’s mouth. She drew back anyway and stood, shedding the dress as she rose. Siafnir watched her kneel on either side of his hips and closed his eyes as she sank onto him.

She leaned forward, brushing her nipples against his lips. He opened his mouth and licked obligingly. She moaned and began moving her hips.

He shut out the breathy cries she was making and replaced them in his mind with deeper, gruffer moans. Just the thought of those sounds sent a shudder down his spine and he grabbed the girl’s hips, imagining they were golden and muscular instead of pale and soft.

She squeaked a little as he began moving with her, using her hips for extra leverage. The squeak quickly became a genuine moan of pleasure. He replicated the movement and she made another sound of pleasant surprise.

He petted her hair for a bit, until she straightened and began to move again. Slipping back into thoughts of Vorstag, he gripped her hips and began moving them.

In Siafnir’s mind, Vorstag threw his head back and gyrated his hips, sweat trickling down his abdomen and slicking down the coarse hairs on his chest. With a harsh cry, Siafnir collapsed and let his hands slip to his sides.

The girl kissed his nose and clambered off him. “You’re good,” she said.

Siafnir pinched his nose, trying not to cry. He held himself together long enough to pay the girl her price and say his goodbyes, but as soon as he shut the door, he turned and sank to the floor, shame washing over him.

After some time, he realized he was stiff and cold and picked himself up off the floor, moving numbly to the washbasin and then back to his bed, where he lay down on his side and pulled the furs over his head, praying that the gods would grant him the oblivion of sleep easily.

The next morning, he got out of bed and decided he needed to make more devotions to the gods before asking them for other favors. He broke his fast with a roasted chicken breast and sweetroll.

Halfway through his meal, Vorstag came and sat down at the bar. Siafnir noted that he sat not next to him, but a few seats down. He looked about as tired as Siafnir felt.

After a tense breakfast, they restocked their supplies and then left the city. Their walk was silent, not broken by conversation of any kind. Siafnir was glad when they ran into another Forsworn camp, but was taken aback when Vorstag ran into the mess ahead of him and wrought havoc with his sword and Orcish shield.

When Vorstag returned, he seemed to be in a much better mood and even handed the jewels and trinkets over to Siafnir with a smirk. “Snooze, you lose.”

Siafnir opened his mouth to retort but hung his head instead, shame replacing his irritation. “I’m sorry.”

Vorstag shrugged. “I suppose I took advantage of you having your head in the clouds.”

“No, I mean–”

Vorstag cut him off. “I know. Everyone has needs. I just. I’m a little envious that you’re able to find pleasure with women too. It would solve a lot of problems for me to do that.”

Siafnir winced. “Only a little pleasure. Usually only enough to get off and get to sleep.”

“But you don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”

“It didn’t work.”

Siafnir thought he felt Vorstag’s gaze on his cheek, but he didn’t dare look to confirm. Instead, he moved forward, picking his way around the carnage of the Forsworn looters.

He raised his eyebrows and finally looked back at Vorstag. “You took no chances.”

“What?”

“You were very thorough when you killed them.”

“Oh.” Vorstag looked down and shrugged. “I was cranky and didn’t sleep well. Had to take it out on something.”

“Those rock beds are pretty miserable,” Siafnir agreed. “I can’t imagine living there.”

“I just got used to it, I guess. There aren’t always nice warm beds when I take contracts.”

“I’ll try to find you a warm bed whenever I can.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m picking up enough extra money from these raids that I can afford–”

“No. You’re my hire, I’ll take care of you.”

Siafnir thought he could feel Vorstag watching him again, but kept his eyes on his footing, not wanting to risk a tumble and spend another hour climbing back up the mountain.

Vorstag put his hand on Siafnir’s arm for a moment, a silent gesture of thanks, and changed the subject.

By the time dark fell, they were heading down the other side of the mountain. Vorstag pointed to a cave and they ducked in to seek shelter from the bitter cold of high mountain nights.

They shared a couple of bottles of mead before eating to ease the misery of gnawing on dried meat and cold bread. By the time they were finished with the day’s rations, they were laughing and singing drinking songs.

A gob of stinging goo hit Siafnir in the face, knocking him onto his back. He giggled for a moment, then wiped it off and stared at his hand. A familiar clicking, rattling noise made its way through the haze of tipsiness shrouding Siafnir’s mind and he shot to his feet. Vorstag mirrored him, somewhat unsteadily.

A Chaurus advanced on them, another slightly behind it. Siafnir thought frantically and then took a step to his left, lining them up. Then he opened his mouth and shouted Dovah words. A gout of fire blasted from his mouth, lighting the oily chitin and sending the Chauruses reeling.

Siafnir watched warily to see if they began moving towards the mouth of the cave again, but was rewarded with a few death twitches and then stillness.

Just as Siafnir began to relax, he heard a creaky cry from deeper inside the cave. Ward light illuminated tunnels along the far side of the cave.

Vorstag drew his bow and fired, but his shot flew far astray. The recoil from the bow sent him staggering to the side.

Siafnir caught him with a hand under his arm. “Come on. Neither of us needs a fight with Falmer right now. Grab your pack and let’s go.”

Vorstag scooped up his pack in one hand and slung it clumsily over his shoulder. Siafnir threw his own on and grabbed Vorstag’s hand, pulling him out of the mouth of the cave and further down the mountain.

The cold hit him like a physical blow. He hunched over and drew his hood up over his head, then scanned the mountainside for a good place to hide.

The most promising place was under an outcropping of rock barely visible through the snow. Siafnir tugged on Vorstag’s hand and pointed, moving toward the outcropping. He gathered words for another shout in case the shelter was already occupied.

Luckily for him, nobody else had dared to remain outside. He dropped his pack and pulled out all his extra armor and clothing, layering it over his leathers. When he had finished, he looked at Vorstag, who despite his drunkenness shivered a little and hunched down into what was apparently his only clothing.

Siafnir took off his outer layers and handed them to Vorstag. Then he started building a wall of snow to block the wind.

Vorstag pitched in after he had wriggled into Siafnir’s spare clothes and they built until they had a little shelter made all of snow. Then, no longer cold, they crawled inside and collapsed in two heaps of exhausted man-flesh.

The silence inside the snow shelter was the most profound silence Siafnir had ever encountered. He turned his head to look at Vorstag to see if he was having the same thoughts.

Vorstag met his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, the whisper disappearing almost immediately into the blanket of silence.

“I said I’d take care of you.”

Vorstag closed his eyes. “That means more to me than I can say.”

Siafnir’s heart skipped a beat and he looked back up at the snow ceiling.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help in the battle with the Chauruses.”

“It’s fine. Call it even since I didn’t help with the Forsworn.”

“It’s my job.”

Siafnir looked over again and found Vorstag looking at him. He clamped down on the urge to grab Vorstag’s face and kiss him. Instead, he said mildly, “It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

Vorstag laughed quietly, a surprisingly soft and breathy sound for a man who could brutally dismember a village without breaking a sweat. Siafnir almost moaned at the sound, but was able to settle for a slight hiss.

The sound did not go unnoticed by Vorstag, who rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Are you all right? Did the Chaurus venom burn you? I completely forgot.”

Siafnir had forgotten, too. “Uh. I don’t know.”

Vorstag leaned over to peer into Siafnir’s face. “It’s too dark. I can’t really tell.”

Siafnir squinted as he tried to remember how to cast Candlelight. The spell involved a hand gesture, which he almost remembered, and a push of will, which he knew how to do. He flicked his hand and pushed with his will, but nothing happened. He did it again a few more times, and finally a feeble ball of light flickered to life.

“A man of many talents,” Vorstag said, his eyes glittering in the cold light.

Siafnir was mesmerized by the way Vorstag’s tongue pressed against his teeth when he spoke, his sibilants hissing and sputtering.

Vorstag leaned closer and brushed Siafnir’s hair out of his face, rubbing ungloved fingertips across the skin where the Chaurus had struck. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine. Maybe a little light-headed.”

“There’s no visible mark. You must have got most of it off quickly.”

“Mmm.”

Vorstag made no move to remove his fingertips, instead stroking Siafnir’s forehead gently. “You might start feeling a little more light-headed until your body processes the venom.”

“Mmmmm.” Siafnir hummed in pleasure.

Vorstag’s lips twitched upward in what might have been the tiniest smile. “Sleep, Siafnir.”

Siafnir’s breath hitched a little at the sound of his name in Vorstag’s voice. “But…”

“Sleep.” Vorstag placed his other hand on Siafnir’s chest.

“Cold again,” Siafnir mumbled, sleep coming for him faster than he wanted to admit.

Vorstag pulled a cloak or two out of a pack and draped them over him, paused, and then lay down next to Siafnir, pulling him close and taking a deep breath.

Warm and secure, Siafnir drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

He woke with his head tucked into Vorstag’s armpit and wriggled out, alarmed. He sprawled onto his back and pretended he’d been there all along. 

Vorstag sighed and rolled over. “It’s cold, Siafnir. No need for your prudish ways.”

Siafnir blushed like a child and buried his face in Vorstag’s chest.

“We can pretend we were never cold after we wake up again, but I hope that will be much later.”

Siafnir hummed, pleased, began to relax, and drifted to sleep.

Vorstag woke Siafnir up some time later with a fresh, hot, roasted rabbit haunch. Siafnir lifted an eyebrow. “Such service from a mercenary.”

Vorstag shrugged. “I slept in your clothes all night. I owe you.”

“You know you don’t owe me anything. I paid you, I’ll take care of you.”

“And I you.”

Siafnir hid his giddy smile behind the rabbit haunch as he tore at it with his teeth. By the time he finished the meat, he had calmed down enough to behave normally.

It’s funny how stupid emotions can make a grown man, a warrior and master thief, giddy as a child, Siafnir thought.

Then, suddenly, his foot slipped and he slid backwards on a patch of gravel. For a split second, he saw the valley floor below him, pastel and distant. Then he was jerked back over the ledge by his arm, pain stabbing briefly in his shoulder. Vorstag’s muscled arms wrapped around him firmly and Siafnir let out a shuddering breath.

“No matter how much I tell myself I can survive that kind of fall, I still feel a little bit like I stared death in the face.”

Vorstag said nothing but held Siafnir even tighter.

“I’m alive,” Siafnir reassured him, but Vorstag didn’t move. “And if I die you can have most of my things. Just give Lydia some severance pay.”

The mercenary finally pulled his face out of Siafnir’s hair and glared at him. “I don’t want your things. I want you. Your company, I mean.”

Siafnir’t guy did something that felt suspiciously like a flip. “I’m here. I’m alive. Thank you.” His legs started shaking again, so he sank carefully to the ground, shifting Vorstag around so that he could properly hold his mercenary.

The mercenary, he corrected himself. Vorstag is not mine, not in any sense beyond my paying his fee.

He looked down and took the opportunity to observe Vorstag. His hands, scarred paws, clenched tight around Siafnir’s leathers. His tattooed chest also glistened with old scars, most hidden under the paint.

Before he could help himself, Siafnir ran his fingers lightly across one just below Vorstag’s right nipple.

Vorstag’s entire body sort of tightened, but then he shuddered and relaxed. Familiar warm heat rushed down Siafnir’s body from his chest through his stomach and into his groin as he imagined that motion accompanied by a soft moan.

_Not now, he thought desperately. Dragons. Dragons tearing. Thieves’ Guild. Brynjolf. Delvin! Vex. Wonder what she’ll have me do next._

Crisis averted, he returned his attention to Vorstag. The mercenary took a deep breath, released Siafnir, and ducked his head, refusing to meet Siafnir’s eyes.

Siafnir dropped his arms, too, and after a moment of sitting awkwardly and listening to his pounding heart, went to lift Vorstag’s chin and do something foolish.

Vorstag also moved, standing up and using the hand Siafnir was still lifting to pull him to his feet. “Sorry for the momentary display of weakness.”

Siafnir ignored the cold, sinking feeling in his stomach and forced his face into something of a smile. “Caring for a friend isn’t usually weakness.”

Vorstag met his eyes as if trying to discern Siafnir’s actual thoughts. “No, maybe not.”

“Come on. We’ve only got a few days of travel left and if we push, we can make Riverwood by nightfall and sleep in proper beds.”

Siafnir took off again, taking care not to lose himself in his thoughts again. They came out onto the road a few hours later and followed it the rest of the way to Riverwood.

It was late when they arrived in town, but the thought of a warm bed and hot meal kept them moving when the temperatures dropped at sundown. Siafnir led the way into the inn and leaned against the bar, waiting for Delphine.

“Dragonborn,” she said quietly. “Are you ready to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy?”

“Not tonight, Delphine,” he said in a normal voice. “Just a hot meal and a bed. And one for my man Vorstag.”

Delphine’s eyes slid past him to Vorstag and widened almost imperceptibly, then narrowed. “You,” she said.

Vorstag gave an overly elaborate bow. “You’ve retired, then.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I told you, I don’t have what you need.”

Mystified, Siafnir looked between the two of them. Delphine harrumphed and turned on her heel. “Your bed is this way,” she said. “Come back in a few minutes and I’ll have your suppers ready.”

_Bed?_

Siafnir tried not to show his consternation. Delphine pointed to the room with the false wardrobe. “All yours,” she said. “Enjoy.”

Siafnir looked at the single large bed in the room and drew his eyebrows together.

“It’s okay,” she said to him as Vorstag went and put his things in one of the room’s chests, the businesslike Delphine he knew. “I know all about his predilections. I have to admit, I’m a little bit surprised to see him turn up here with you, of all people, but whatever makes you happy.”

“We’re not – That’s not.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I – I couldn’t. Vorstag is my hire.”

Delphine raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s just his blade for hire?”

Siafnir choked. “You mean…?”

“I mean a man of his tastes could make a killing in a more conservative city like Markarth.”

Vorstag cleared his throat. “Delphine, I’m right here. Stop putting ideas in Siafnir’s head. I know it’s what you do best, but I think I’ve found a real friend in him and I don’t particularly want you making me seem like a trollop to someone I can sleep soundly around.”

Siafnir closed his eyes. “Delphine, is this necessary?”

She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dragonborn. Old wounds cut deep. Anyway, you’ve arrived so late all I can offer you are pallets on the floor or this room.”

Siafnir nodded. “That’s fair, I suppose.” Then he went to put his own things down, slipped away to the secret room behind the wardrobe, and sat down on the floor with his head between his knees and his thoughts spinning.

Siafnir’s hungry belly growled, telling him to stop overthinking. Vorstag was at the very least a capable mercenary and good company. Whatever else might or might not be there was irrelevant to the rest. He heaved himself to his feet and went back upstairs to sit next to Vorstag at one of the long tables. 

Delphine brought over baked potatoes, grilled leeks, and a roast pheasant and Siafnir began to tear into it with pleasure. A cup of mead appeared at his elbow and he drank from it, long and deep. Delphine refilled it and brought a boiled crème treat after he had finished his meal. “I’ve refreshed the water in the bath for you, Dragonborn.”

“You’re a fantastic innkeeper, Delphine.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. 

Siafnir turned to Vorstag, sated and a little drunk, and said, “Soooo. I sense a story behind Delphine’s less-than-warm reception of you.”

Vorstag snorted. “Before she became an innkeeper, she was something of an adventurer. She fell in with an employer of mine and eventually fell for him. Unfortunately for her, his affections were directed elsewhere.”

“…At you?”

Vorstag smirked. “At me. But that’s a story for a different day. Anyway, she grieved that opportunity for a few weeks, but then got an injury in a raid and began to think about settling down. I was tasked with caring for her until she recovered, and she realized she didn’t want to adventure anymore. She noticed I was good at cooking and asked me to open an inn with her. I said my adventuring days weren’t over and she needed to stop falling for men who were attracted to other men.”

Siafnir snorted. “Delphine?”

“Younger and more foolish Delphine.”

Siafnir gave Vorstag a sideways glance. “How old are you?”

Vorstag shrugged. “Don’t know. Do you?”

“…No.”

“Well, then.”

Siafnir leaned back and stretched. Roadweariness was getting to him and he felt his muscles stiffening. “I’m headed to the bath. Coming along or no?”

“Sounds pleasant.” Siafnir stood and led the way into the bath. He felt a couple of pairs of eyes on his back, but no one jeered. Once inside, he closed the door, lit the four braziers and peeled off his leathers.

He thought he felt Vorstag’s eyes on him as he stripped, but when he glanced up, his mercenary seemed occupied with his own armor.

Siafnir stretched again for good measure and slipped into the steaming water. The pool was small but deep and wide enough that four men could sink to their necks if they sat on the stones at the bottom of the pool.

Vorstag followed him in and hissed at the hot water on his skin. Siafnir watched as he splashed water over himself, curious to see if the paint would come off.

It didn’t. Vorstag caught Siafnir looking and smirked. “It doesn’t wash off with water,” he said.

“What does it wash off with?” Siafnir asked. Might as well own it, he figured.

Vorstag’s smirk became a sly smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Siafnir’s breath hitched and he averted his gaze from Vorstag’s.

Vorstag leaned back and put his arms on the side of the tub. “Don’t let what Delphine said scare you.”

“About the –”

“’Not just his sword for hire,’” Vorstag said in a cracking falsetto.

Siafnir’s lips twitched up in a smile.

“In the past I have done that a few times, yes.” Vorstag frowned a little. “I think Delphine exaggerates, though. She saw my relationship with my employer as less than what it was.”

Siafnir shrugged. “It’s not really my business, anyway. I was just surprised, I think, that someone would just come out and say that about another person.”

“She was hurt. I don’t blame her. Besides, I’m not ashamed of what I did.”

“Really?”

“No. Well, not most of it. I had to call a man ‘Daddy’ once. Quickly decided that was not my cup of tea.”

Siafnir blinked.

“Anyway, I learned from it. I made money. It felt good. I don’t regret any of that.”

“Do you still…?”

Vorstag smiled gently. “No. I’d prefer to fall in love and have things progress naturally.”

“I mean, I wasn’t. I was. Just curious.”

Vorstag laughed. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

To his great embarrassment, Siafnir blushed. He distracted himself with rinsing out his hair. When he had wrung it out, he realized the water was growing cold.

“How’s the water?” he asked Vorstag.

“Getting cold,” Vorstag frowned. “I suppose we should retire.”

“Not so fast,” Siafnir said, holding up his hand. “You forget you’re traveling with a mage of Winterhold.”

“Actually, I had no idea in the first place,” Vorstag said, rolling his eyes. “I thought you just dabbled, but you have a finger in every pie, don’t you?”

Siafnir cocked his head to one side and smiled. Then he held his hands palms-down over the water, almost touching them together at the mound of the thumbs. He summoned forth a gout of fire and gradually submerged it. Vorstag yelped as a jet of almost-scalding water blasted past him, then relaxed as the water temperature began to rise.

Pleased with his work, Siafnir leaned back, closed his eyes, and smiled.

A while later, he and Vorstag pulled themselves out of the water, bodies almost liquid from relaxation, wrapped cloaks around themselves in lieu of donning sweaty armor, and headed back to their room. Siafnir rummaged in one of his bags and pulled out some loose clothes, tossing them on the bed. Vorstag put on a soft tunic and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillows.

Siafnir dressed similarly and climbed into bed beside Vorstag, facing away to remove temptation.

He woke in the middle of the night, hot and hard with Vorstag pressed up against him. His heart pounded through the fog in his mind and he tried to pull away from Vorstag, but was trapped by muscular arms. He thrust his hips up into the covers in a futile attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

Vorstag murmured something next to him and his hand brushed against Siafnir’s problem. Siafnir hissed and bucked, then froze, sure he’d woken Vorstag.

Indeed, Vorstag’s eyes opened to slits and focused on Siafnir.

“Vorstag, I… I need to go–”

Vorstag moved to let him go, but his hand brushed against Siafnir again and he paused as his touch triggered a shudder. “Is that what’s got you so worked up?” he half-purred.

Siafnir moaned as Vorstag grasped his length with one hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – oh!”

Vorstag smirked and disappeared below the covers. Siafnir bit down on his forearm as a warm, wet mouth enveloped him.

His other hand found Vorstag’s hair and grabbed a loose handful, trying not to buck up and choke him.

Vorstag pulled away for a moment, threw off the covers, and murmured, “I’m a pro at this, remember. Don’t hold yourself back.”

Siafnir let out short, almost agonized cry into his forearm and arched his back, then thrust his hips upward. He let the act wash over him, blocking out everything else.

He felt the hot-cold certainty of climax begin to wash over him and tapped Vorstag’s shoulder. Vorstag hummed and looked up at Siafnir.

“I’m… going to…”

Vorstag kept eye contact with Siafnir but refused to remove his mouth. Siafnir’s vision whited out and he lost touch with everything but sensation.

His vision took a few moments to come back, and by that time, Vorstag had crawled back up next to him and gone back to sleep.

Siafnir’s brows drew together in confusion, but afterglow soon carried him back away to sleep.

In the morning, the whole thing seemed like a dream and neither of them brought it up. They put on their aired-out armor and went out to have some breakfast and stock up their supplies before leaving again.


End file.
